Amy swung the box aside and opened the door with her own key, thankful she had it because she didn’t remember the code the realtor had given her.
Marshall had, though. What did he say—the realtor used the same code for all her houses? Not very good security for her clients. Talk about a dumb blonde.
The key paused in the lock. Funny, she hadn’t looked like a dumb blonde at all. Poised, stylish, quick…she couldn’t really see her doing something like that.
Amy shook her head. Not that she knew the lady at all, and naming the attributes of the woman Marshall ha—
Stop! Those thoughts weren’t keeping her head in the right spot, and she had to stop, now.
Still, something niggled at her brain as the cool emptiness of the house greeted her. She had half a mind to shut the place up and find a hotel, but that wouldn’t be prudent in conserving her finances for a down payment on her business goals, and their livelihood. First thing tomorrow, she’d get a newspaper and start looking for an inn up for sale, or even a big house she could convert into a bed and breakfast. Maybe somewhere out of the city, in a little tourist town. She’d loved the small town feel of Redemption. And having Andee nearby.
Her shoulders sank as she bent to pick up the car seat. “I did so well to keep everything at bay on the drive here,” she complained to Charlotte as she set the seat on the cold, dark coffee table by a colder, darker fireplace. “Why is every thought now revolving around what I miss the most?” She swiped at a few leaves and seed husks that clung to the carrier. “Wasn’t the whole point of coming home to break the shell I was living in and make the choices that are right for us?” she asked, but her gaze was stuck on the little seed shell stuck to her finger. Again, that niggling at the back of her mind bothered her, like she had overlooked something, something important.
Shells? Like sea shells? Egg shells? Oh, this is ridiculous. She brushed away the annoyance to release Charlotte from her carrier. “Come on, Peanut, let’s—” She frowned at her daughter. The nickname had just slipped out; another reminder of Marshall, and worse, images of his tenderness with her daughter. Peanut.
Peanut shells…
Oh my God.
Her gaze darted behind her to the clunky lock box as the niggling pieces swirled and fitted neatly into place. He knew the lock box combination. Sawdust and peanut shells had littered the corner of the dining room—just like Marshall’s work area behind the Lonesome Steer. And how many men know every room in a bed and breakfast, let alone one that had been on the market for a couple years? All its best features?
Or remembered that I wanted to run my own inn. And then found the perfect one…
“Oh my God,” she repeated as Marshall’s angry words from the first night haunted her.
“I came back from six months on the circuit with a buckle, a key and a ring in my pocket…”
She’d been so taken aback by the ring comment, she never even clued into the ke—
The little body struggling against her tight hold pulled her out of her reverie, and she held her daughter up before her, staring at the little crinkled brows and nose.
“Oh, Peanut. I think I did it again.” But she didn’t plan to play the maybe game again. “Not this time,” she said aloud. There was too much at stake.
Chapter Fourteen
On autopilot, Marshall grabbed two longnecks from the cooler beneath the bar with one hand while pouring a shot of tequila with the other. The Lonesome Steer was buzzing tonight, giving him little time to think. Exactly what he needed.
He shrugged off the tenseness attacking his shoulders and swiped the bottles up over Gus’s head as his boss pulled a draft for Billy Wayne and his buddies. Marshall forced his gaze from straying to the far end of the bar as he set the bottles before two cowboys and the tequila before a blonde between them. He grabbed up the twenty and swung around to get change from the till only giving half a thought to the real loser—the one she’d actually choose.
The Rattlesnakes were on fire tonight. Their music vibrated the liquor bottles on the back shelf, and every brain cell in his head. He closed the till with his hip, slid the coinage toward the trio and leaned in to hear the next order from a brunette wearing too few clothes and too much perfume. With a leather cowgirl hat pulled low over painted eyes, she exposed more cleavage than Lay Down Layla and said, “Jack Daniels,” as if she were whispering her lover’s name.
Marshall gave the appropriate tilt of his lips and turned to the liquor shelf, fighting the damned hum of awareness zipping down his spine, urging his body to turn toward the end of the bar. He clenched his jaw and grabbed a bottle of Jack, scraping the shelf with the rough handedness.
“You just going to leave her there?” Keira shouted above the din as she reached across him to pull gin from the shelf.
“Yep,” he replied simply, focused on keeping the burnished liquid in the glass.
Something red flashed in his periphery, and he automatically glanced over to see the wave of a scarf as an impatient patron tried to grab their attention—unfortunately, it also put him in eyesight of the last seat where an auburn head was bent over the oak. This time, slender fingers whittled away at peanut shells instead of napkins. But not with nervous tendency as before; tonight, she looked like any other customer enjoying taking a load off from the day.
Well, as far as he was concerned, Amy could pull apart every shell in the place; he still wasn’t going down there. She’d been sitting in the same seat for over an hour now, not making a scene, but every time his glance betrayed him to look down the bar, she’d be looking back. And every nerve ending in his body was on high alert. Like she was in his blood, and the only way to get her out was to cut out his…
To ignore her. He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of playing this game again.
“That’s okay, I only have ten people wanting drinks at this end, but no worries, I’ll go get that one too,” Keira said in a snide voice, adding a muttered, “Stubborn ass,” as she scooted to the other end of the bar.
Marshall clenched his teeth and turned back to the job at hand, shoving the bottle back on the shelf and the drink in front of the cleavage leaning over the shellacked oak surface. He then took care of this end of the bar—five, not ten orders—another round for the boys at the pool tables and a pitcher for a group hell bent on being the loudest table in the place.
Over the course of the next two hours, he choked down three more aspirin, hauled four cases of beer, two of liquor, and a keg from the back room, poured a fraternity load of shots, pulled a small poolful of drafts, got propositioned four times, and his ass fondled seven. All in all, a normal night.
Except for the damned, over-heightened awareness making every nerve ending vibrate like an eight-second buzzer that wouldn’t shut off. And still she sat there. Waiting.
For hell to freeze over as far as I’m concerned.
When his gaze veered to the other end, he saw Keira standing before her. Unbelievable—he watched as his supposed friend slid a glass of water to the enemy. He read the thank you on Amy’s rose lips, but then the silky auburn hair swung over her cheek as she leaned forward. Keira did too for a moment, but Marshall could pick up no hint of the conversation.
With a tap on the bar, the blonde barista came back, picking up a couple orders on the way. She grabbed a glass and pulled a draft next to him.
Marshall swiped two empty bottles and a tumbler from across the bar and tilted his chin toward her. “Did she say what she wanted,” he griped.
“Thought you didn’t care.”
The tilt of Keira’s lips annoyed the hell out of him.
“I don’t.”
She eased up on the handle, leaving a measured head on the dark liquid. “That’s good then, because she was asking if you and Lee-Anne were an item.”
“What’d you say?” He covered the quick response with a casual placement of the used glasses in the dishwasher under the bar.
Keira raised a shoulder as she starte
d another draft. “I told her you were.”
“What?” Marshall snapped up straight. His gaze caught the smoky one at the end of the bar before he forced it away to his former friend. “You of all people know Lee-Anne and I were never and will never be an item. Geez, Keira, why would you do th—”
The smug grin she turned on him tightened his jaw until he believed he could snap nails with his teeth. “Not. Funny,” he ground out and spun away, his boots clonking on the linoleum as he stalked out from behind the bar.
Just before midnight, a lull gave him a few minutes to refill the lemon wedges and stab some more oranges and cherries onto the multi-colored, plastic swizzle sticks.
“I’ve stayed out of it as long as I can.”
The gruff tone of Gus’s voice came from close behind, followed by a heavy hand planted on his shoulder.
“I’m sure your mama taught you better than to treat a lady like that. And I sure as hell know I have.”
Marshall fisted a cherry in his palm until the juice bled through his fingers, anger keeping him silent. Anger that he was about to be guilted into doing something he did not want to do. The sticky-sweet scent of the crushed cherry rose up to his flared nostrils. He was just about to tell the old man that it was none of his business, when the hand on his shoulder relaxed from stern to support.
“Trust an old fool, boy. Second chances don’t come around too often.”
Damn the man. He couldn’t help but remember his short conversation with Gus at the café.
“At least hear her out.”
Fine. Marshall swiped a cloth to wipe the mangled fruit from his hand, set his jaw and turned. If it got everyone off his case, he’d get the damn thing over with and get her out of there. Besides, he was going to be sore as hell tomorrow if he didn’t get the freakin’ knots out of his shoulders soon.
“If you’re afraid of fallin’ again, son, you know we’ll always be here to catch you.” The old man had the gall to smile. “But you gotta ask yourself, who would you rather have catch you, us…or her?”
Not impressed with his boss’s amusement or unsolicited words of wisdom, he shoved past and headed toward the end of the bar.
A creeping of déjà vu stole up his spine, and he folded his hands over his chest. “What are you doing here, Amy?”
She brushed away a few peanut shells. “Waiting.”
The simply spoken, one-word reply irked him. He was here, finish it. “Waiting for what?”
“You.”
“Too late.” He turned and went to storm away when the déjà vu took full force in the hand that grabbed his arm.
“Marshall, wait. Are we going to do this again?”
Hell no.
He ripped his arm from her grasp and turned on her. “Not a chance. This time you are going to leave and stay the hell away. From what I hear, you’re ‘done with your past.’”
She sat up straighter and stared right at him. “You heard right.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here?”
“Like I said, I’m here for you.”
Right, like I’m going to be fool enough to believe that again. But there was a light in her beautiful eyes that hadn’t been there before. A confidence he hadn’t seen since back…
No. He shook the thoughts off, berating his heart for even stealing a glimmer of hope.
Marshall leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest again.
“What exactly do you want, Amy?”
She grabbed up a peanut and broke the shell apart. “For starters, I want to convince you to sell me the bed and breakfast. I won’t find a more perfect place if I looked all over the country.”
He didn’t think it was possible, but she’d just stabbed the knife deeper in his chest, twisting the serrated blade into what was left of his heart. She didn’t want him; she wanted the damned inn. Had he really even considered she was back for him?
Wait, how did she even know about the—
“Don’t look so angry, I figured it out on my own and made a few phone calls to confirm my theory.”
He didn’t care how she found out. What hurt most was knowing he owned it didn’t seem to clue her in at all.
The blade sliced up the jagged pieces even smaller.
“Will that get you out of here?” He practically choked the words out, his chest too tight to hold air.
“Yes,” she replied.
The honesty in her expression finished the job.
“Fine. It’s yours.” He spun away, forcing his hand not to clasp the gaping hole in his chest.
“Good,” she said behind him. “Then that is where Charlotte and I will wait for you.”
He waved a hand and shook his head. “Lee-Anne can deal with all the details.” He was out of it, for good this time.
“Fine. But I’ll still be there, waiting for you.”
Something in the tone of her voice, that undeterred, newfound confidence turned him around.
“It’s done, Amy. I get it, you’re done with your past,” he said, weary of the fight for something that was obviously never his to begin with. “What more do you want from me?”
“I am done with my past. Now, I’m building my future, with my daughter. I am choosing my path this time, every step of it.” A small smile graced her lips. “And I choose to wait for you. However long it takes.”
Marshall’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t force a word out as his mind wove round and round in an effort at comprehension.
She tossed the peanut back into the bowl and slid off the stool. “Thank you. I’ll call your realtor and get things started. I just wanted you to know that I’m here, and I’m waiting for you.”
Snapping back to reality, Marshall frowned and found himself practically vaulting around the bar to stand in front of her.
“What if I choose not to take you back?”
The band had changed to a softer tune, taking the decibel level down a notch with them, leaving his callous words hanging in the air and a few patrons’ heads turning. He didn’t care. Though his heart berated him for the harsh words, his head knew better. He wasn’t about to fall for another game.
Amy didn’t even look around or appear embarrassed by the added audience. “I’m not going to lie, it would suck, big time.” Her gaze wavered for a moment and she rolled a rose lip between her teeth before holding his gaze again. “And I would understand. A lot has happened, and maybe you can’t get over the past, I get it. But yes, I’ll still be waiting for you.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” He took a step closer, her peach fragrance infiltrating his war between skepticism and hope.
She raised her chin, assurance sparkling in the beautiful hazel eyes. “If it takes a week, a year, if you never come back, I choose to wait for you. My heart has never belonged to anyone else, and it never will.”
Her hand came up to rest on his chest, and he had to fight not to pull away from the intensity of the touch, as if it were drawing the pieces of his heart back together.
“I’m going to keep waiting. If you want to go back on circuit, I’ll still be waiting. If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll still be waiting. If you hate me, I’ll still be waiting. Because this time, I am not losing faith, I’m not giving up, and I’m not listening to anyone else tell me who to love. I already know exactly who I love. So yes, if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll still be wait—”
Marshall kissed the last word from her lips, his fingers tangled in her thick hair with the fevered emotions her words evoked. Hands clung to his shirt, pulling him closer as the truth of her vows poured from her lips into him, encompassing him with a passion that promised far more than he could have imagined.
When they came up for air, hoots and hollers echoed around them.
He stole a quick glance to the bar, finding Keira grinning like a fiend and Gus nodding, a knowing smile tilting up the handlebar mustache.
After a grin and nod of acknowledgment, he rested his fore
head against Amy’s. The most beautiful hazel eyes stared up at him, full of love and hope and promise.
Marshall kissed her again, slow and tender and with all the promise a lifetime could hold.
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Honky Tonk Hearts Volume 2 Page 46
